by Will Jordan
Sure enough, he could see the Land Rover parked nearby. The rest of the town stretched out like a model below, all small buildings and narrow alleyways.
He turned to the other members of his assault team, all dressed in black body armour. ‘Both suspects are armed and should be considered extremely dangerous, so don’t take any chances. Understood?’
He was met by a chorus of affirmative responses. But one member of the team remained silent.
‘Frost! Are you hearing me?’
‘Yeah, goddamn it!’ she snapped.
Leaning out, he clipped his fast-descent harness into the pylon mounted on the side of the aircraft.
Tearing out of the bedroom and into the hallway beyond, Drake and Anya almost collided with Hussam. The old man’s eyes were wide with fear. Outside, a hurricane of wind from the aircraft’s downwash rattled the window shutters, the roar of the engines making the floorboards tremble.
‘They’ve found us,’ Anya said, yelling to be heard over the din. She was clutching her AK-47, a rucksack stuffed with whatever items she’d been able to gather slung over her shoulder. ‘We must leave now.’
Hussam knew better than to waste time on questions. ‘Come!’ he said, beckoning them as he turned and rushed for the stairs.
He moved with a speed that belied his size and age, leaping down the stairs two at a time. Even they were hard pressed to keep up.
Turning left at the bottom, he grasped one of the wooden panels beneath the staircase and wrenched it open, revealing a doorway that neither of them knew existed. Beyond lay another, much older, set of stone steps that descended to a basement or cellar of some kind.
A flashlight was fixed to the inside of the secret door. Taking it, he switched it on and descended the stairs, moving slower and more carefully this time. The steps were narrow and worn. Drake and Anya followed behind.
The stairs brought them to a small stone-walled room, perhaps 10 feet wide and twice as long. The air was cold and dry, smelling of dust and great age. Packing boxes sat along one wall, painted dark green and with Cyrillic writing emblazoned across them. Drake recognised weapons crates straight away. He wondered how many more AKs resided down here.
‘Over there,’ he said, shining his flashlight at the far end of the room. Another door stood there, closed and bolted from their side. ‘My last gift to you. It will take you into the old sewer system. Follow the tunnel for three hundred paces, then look for my mark. Go!’
Anya glanced at the door, then back at the old man. ‘Come with us.’
He gave her a bitter-sweet smile. ‘I’m too old to play these games, child. I will delay them as long as I can. If Allah wills it, we will see each other again.’
Rushing forward, Drake unbolted the door. It swung open on old, rusted hinges to reveal a dank passageway, perhaps 5 feet high. There was no smell of human waste, these tunnels having long since been abandoned, but mould and damp were prevalent.
‘Anya! We have to go.’
Anya looked at the old man again, and he saw true gratitude in her eyes. ‘I’m in your debt.’
‘My Ameera,’ he said, reaching up and gently stroking her cheek. ‘The debt was always mine. Good luck to you, child.’
In a rare display of affection, she reached out and grabbed him, pulling him close in a fierce embrace. A moment later, she let go, took the flashlight and hurried towards the door without looking back.
The front door was locked and barred, but two rounds from a Mossberg breaching shotgun soon changed that. Kicking aside the shattered remains of the door, Dietrich rushed inside, with Keegan, Rahul and Frost spreading out to take flanking positions. Four more operatives in full armour were with them, weapons out and ready as they fanned out through the house.
Everywhere there was noise. The thump of the circling Black Hawk’s rotors, the crash of doors being kicked open, yells from his fellow team members, the crackle of radio transmissions in his ear, panicked screams as women and children found themselves confronted by masked men with guns.
Suddenly the door beside him flew open and he found himself confronted by a giant of a man who seemed to occupy the entire breadth and height of the frame. He saw the glint of something metal scything through the air towards him, and ducked instinctively as the man swung what looked like a meat cleaver.
Using an MP5 sub-machine gun as a makeshift club, he parried the next vicious blow and slammed the weapon’s stock into the man’s face. He stumbled back, stunned by the impact, but remained on his feet.
Frost wasn’t about to let him get back in the fight. Dietrich watched the young woman calmly level a bulky plastic pistol at the giant and fire two metal prongs into the centre of his chest. The harsh clicking as the taser discharged thousands of volts into his body was soon drowned out by his howl of pain. Size didn’t matter when it came to weapons like that. He went down like a ton of bricks, his massive body hitting the ground with enough force to make the floorboards shake.
‘Tango down!’ she called.
Their eyes met, and he gave her a fleeting look of gratitude, but said nothing. There was no need.
In under a minute, it was over. All of the rooms had been secured and the house’s inhabitants rounded up in the living room – two females, probably mother and daughter; the giant, now awake and groaning in pain; a young boy who could count perhaps eight years; and an old man with a greying beard.
No sign of Drake or Anya.
‘We swept the house. They ain’t here,’ Keegan reported.
‘They were here.’ Dietrich was convinced of that.
He looked at the old man again. He was standing with his arms held protectively around the sobbing woman – his wife, no doubt. He was glaring at Dietrich, his dark eyes burning like coals.
‘Where are they?’ he demanded.
The man said nothing, just stood there glaring at him.
‘I know you speak English, you fat fuck! Your Army personnel file says so.’
Still no response.
‘Rahul. Translate for me.’
The young Saudi officer repeated his demand, speaking fast and urgent. The man took his time replying, as if having to think the matter over.
‘He says he doesn’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Bullshit,’ Keegan cut in. ‘The son of a bitch is stalling.’
Dietrich looked him up and down. He was an old man, fat and grey, wearing a crumpled business suit and shoes that looked as if they’d seen better days.
He frowned, looking closer at the shoes. What he had thought were scuff marks were actually some kind of dust or powder. He had left footprints on the otherwise pristine floorboards when they’d marched him in here. Where had he been?
Struck by an idea, Dietrich snatched a flashlight from one of the assault operatives and retraced the footprints out into the hallway.
They seemed to be leading towards the staircase, but they weren’t heading up it. They simply stopped. It was as if he had emerged from the wall itself, just where one of the polished wood panels jutted out a little …
Reaching out, he grabbed the panel and yanked it hard. It came away easily, revealing a doorway with a set of steps leading down.
Dietrich’s eyes lit up. ‘Keegan! Frost! On me.’
The old sewer tunnel curved north in a wide arc as Drake and Anya rushed down it, having to duck to avoid the low ceiling. Along the way, they passed various side tunnels which emptied into their own, all long since dried up. They were far too small for a human to crawl through.
With only the bouncing light of their torch to illuminate the way, it was impossible to tell where they were. The only thing that mattered was that they were putting some distance between themselves and the house.
By Drake’s reckoning they had covered a good 100 yards or more, which was probably enough to put them outside whatever perimeter the tactical teams had established for the assault.
Anya was behind him, covering their backs. ‘I don’t understand how they
found us,’ she hissed, hurrying to catch up.
‘They must have traced Harrison’s passport,’ he reasoned, though he had no idea how they had tracked them to Hussam’s house. ‘Or maybe your mate Hussam was playing for the other team?’
‘Never!’ she hit back. ‘I know him. I trust him.’
‘You trusted Munro once, and look where that got you.’
Anya said nothing to that, but her eyes flashed with anger.
‘All teams, be advised, targets are in the sewer system,’ Dietrich barked into his radio as he strode back down the corridor. ‘I want teams on every manhole cover within a half-mile radius. Move!’
He had already sent four men down the tunnel in pursuit, though considering the head start their targets had, it was unlikely they’d catch up.
‘That’s a pretty big search area,’ Keegan reminded him. They could call on perhaps a dozen operatives in total; a scratch force thrown together at the last minute. There was no way they could cover every access point.
‘I know,’ Dietrich growled. They were slipping from his grasp just when he was about to close his hand around them.
Come on, you’re smarter than this. Think, goddamn it! Think!
‘Rahul, can we get a plan of the sewer layout?’
The younger man shook his head. ‘That tunnel is part of the old system, no longer used. It could be hundreds of years old.’
‘Shit.’
He threw the front door open and strode outside. The street was a chaotic scene of police vehicles, armed operatives and local civilians desperate to get a look at the action. Already the tactical teams were dispersing, moving off in a desperate effort to cover as many sewer outlets as possible.
‘It’s his escape route. He designed it for himself, so it would have to be somewhere close,’ Dietrich mused. ‘He’s old, and fat as shit. There’s no way he could travel far.’
‘And he wouldn’t want to pop up in the middle of a crowded street,’ Keegan added. ‘He’d want to know his exit was secure.’
Frost was starting to see his reasoning. ‘And he’d want a vehicle of some kind. Something to get him out of the area.’
Dietrich stopped in his tracks and turned to Rahul. ‘Does he have any garages leased in his name?’
Chapter 58
‘THERE!’ ANYA CALLED, pointing to a section of wall that looked no different from the rest.
Drake skidded to a halt, turned and looked at her. ‘How do you know?’
She brushed past him and gestured to a mark cut into the stone. ‘That is Hussam’s mark.’
To Drake’s eyes, it seemed like nothing but a random set of lines and curves carved into the wall, perhaps a builder’s note or something similar.
‘I don’t get it.’
‘It is his name in Vedic Sanskrit. Almost no one can read it today,’ she explained. ‘Shine your light on me.’
Gently touching the ancient stones beneath the carved symbol, she found one in particular that had a different feel from the others, and pressed it hard. There was a click, and suddenly the innocuous section of wall she’d been standing next to moved just a little.
It was a door, he realised. A hidden door.
Pushing it open, Anya exposed a smaller chamber beyond. Perhaps 4 feet square, its only feature was a metal ladder leading up.
‘I’ll go first,’ Drake said, shouldering his AK.
Anya nodded, turning to pull the door shut behind them as he clambered up with the flashlight gripped in his teeth.
A metal manhole cover blocked his way. Taking a deep breath, he leaned into it with his shoulder and heaved upward, feeling the cover rise up with a grating rasp. As soon as it was clear of the rim, he shoved it aside and hoisted himself up. Unshouldering the AK in one hand and taking the flashlight in the other, he allowed the beam to play over his surroundings.
He was in a room; a big one, maybe 30 feet long and twice as wide. Judging by the concrete floor, toolboxes and bare brick walls, this was no house or living space. It was a workshop.
He listened, straining to hear any shuffling or clicks that might indicate the presence of people with weapons, but detected nothing. In the distance he could make out the rhythmic thumping of helicopter blades. The chopper was still circling the area.
There was a light switch mounted on the wall beside him. Backing up beside it, he flicked it on. A single fluorescent strip light mounted in the ceiling pinged into life, revealing a grey Toyota Hilux 4x4 in the centre of the room. The vehicle looked as though it had come straight from the showroom.
The main doors stood opposite; big reinforced steel shutters linked up to an electric motor. Beside them was a smaller conventional door for day-to-day use.
‘Clever boy,’ he said, impressed by Hussam’s foresight.
Anya was up beside him a moment later. Glancing around, she focused on the Hilux and nodded in satisfaction.
‘Find out if it’ll start,’ Drake instructed. I’ll get the shutters open.’ He was already moving towards the motor control box, having no doubt that Hussam kept the vehicle well maintained.
But no sooner had he started moving than the door exploded inwards, a fist-sized hole blasted in the lock. Men in dark assault gear rushed in, weapons raised, yelling at him not to move.
Drake didn’t stop to wonder how they had found Hussam’s supposedly secret escape route, or whether they had seen Anya.
He was in survival mode now. There were three of them that he could see, with the possibility of more outside. They were in full assault gear, with face masks, armoured combat vests and Kevlar plates covering their arms and legs. All three were armed; one with a breaching shotgun that was no doubt responsible for punching a hole in the door; one with an MP5 sub-machine gun, and one with a Heckler & Koch USP pistol.
The shotgun was a nasty weapon at close range, but the MP5 was the biggest threat. Unprotected as he was, one burst would put him down. Reacting on instinct, Drake brought the AK to bear on the nearest target.
‘Forget it, Ryan!’ a voice hissed.
Drake’s heart leapt. He knew that voice all too well.
‘Put the gun down,’ Dietrich ordered, covering Drake with the MP5. ‘It’s over.’
All three of them had the drop on him.
‘Jonas, listen to me—’
‘Put the gun down. I won’t tell you again.’ As far as Dietrich was concerned, Drake was just a target to be taken down. And he wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.
Cursing, Drake lowered the AK and placed it on the ground at his feet.
‘Kick it away.’ The MP5 didn’t leave Drake’s centre mass for a second.
Placing his foot beneath the weapon, he slid it forwards. The assault rifle gave off a harsh screech as the metal parts scraped the concrete floor, but by the time it came to a halt it was well out of his reach.
Drake raised his hands to show he was unarmed.
‘Where is she?’ Dietrich demanded.
‘She’s gone.’
The older man wasn’t buying it for a second. ‘You’re lying. That’s a bad play for a man in your situation.’
‘For fuck sake, Jonas, I’m not your enemy. Neither is Anya.’
‘Bullshit,’ Frost retorted. He had suspected it was her based on her height and build, and the voice confirmed it. ‘Why the fuck are you protecting someone like her?’
‘Because she’s the only one who can help me.’
Dietrich’s brows drew together in a frown. ‘What do you mean?’
Drake opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment the light blinked out, plunging the room into darkness.
An instant later, he heard a crunch followed by a low groan of pain, and then the dull thud of a body hitting the floor.
‘Contact!’ Frost cried out in warning.
‘Rahul’s down!’
It could only have been Anya. Drake had no idea where she was, especially in pitch darkness, but she was in there somewhere with them. He felt the hairs prickle on the b
ack of his neck, and a creeping sense of dread rising up from the pit of his stomach. She was a predator stalking her prey; silent, remorseless, deadly.
Maras – a goddess of war.
Without hesitation, he made a dash to the right, reached down and felt his fingers close around the stock of the AK-47. Snatching the weapon up, he thumbed the safety catch off and backed up against the Hilux.
Suddenly the room blazed with red light as Dietrich triggered a signal flare, dropping the device at his feet.
For a brief moment, Drake saw the man silhouetted against the crimson glow, his weapon up and ready. Then there was a blur of motion on his left. A figure leapt from the shadows, grasped the weapon in a vice-like grip and yanked it from his hand.
Dietrich lashed out with his fist, meeting nothing but air. She was a ghost, no more substantial than the grotesque shadows cast by the flare. Before he could recover, Anya moved around to his other side, grabbed him and drove her knee into his stomach. A hard strike to the back of his neck sent him sprawling on the concrete floor.
She wasted no time contemplating her victory. Frost was mere yards away, searching the flickering shadows for a target. Hearing the commotion, she turned towards the source of the noise, bringing her USP to bear.
Anya was on her in a heartbeat. Staring in horrified fascination, Drake watched as her hand shot out, gripped the weapon’s slide and shoved it backward just as Frost pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened. With the slide in its rear position, the hammer was blocked, preventing it from striking the round in the chamber.
Twisting the weapon away, Anya drew back her left arm and drilled Frost across the jaw, snapping her head to the side. Stunned, the young woman slackened her grip on the weapon.
Anya pulled it out of her grasp before she could recover. With casual ease, she ejected the magazine, pulled back the slide and pressed the release pin on the right side of the frame. With the locking assembly disengaged, the weapon literally fell apart in her hands, its components clattering to the floor.
But Frost wasn’t finished. The blow had enflamed her already wounded pride, and the older woman’s brief pause to disarm the weapon had bought her a vital second or two to regain her wits. Unsheathing a combat knife from her webbing, she spun back to face her adversary, lashing out with the blade in a vicious backhanded swipe.
